by J C W


within myself.


this ugly openness.

I am far too open (which means also undisciplined).

I see all books, all fields, all knowledge,

even possible lives, incompatible ones,

and I want them all…

and in the end I have none of them…


within myself, that’s for sure.

The evil of my time.

All those autofiction guys… uninteresting.

I wish that through work I might be able to…

go beyond that.

Be different.

Be otherwise.

Little hope, however…

The tendency seems rather to reinforce itself.

More, more, more self,

More openness,

More emptiness…

Guilt, also, to have tumblred.

Guilt, because it is not serious, because you cannot do… anything … great… with it…

Another part of me say that on the contrary it is absolutely possible

To do something great.


Today again this experience of going to the bookshop, having a ‘resolution’ to buy, and ending up not buying anything… There’s this thing about buying desires… It’s a lie. It’s a lie. It is a desire, but for something else. Maybe, simply, desire to read. Desire to learn things. So instead of buying, I should just… bury my eyes in some of those many books I already have!


I am completely lost.

Yet, something is new.

I have listened to music again.

Great, great recovery.

Listen to music again.

There is still this question.

How do you get into those cultural productions

– From speculative art to philosophy or science –

Which have this resisting quality.

Which are really not easy (either incomprehensible, boring or simply alien…)?

That is a major question.

More precisely: how do you get to access those

Without the sadomasochistic superego injunctions?

How do you get to be more efficient, more powerful, more virtuoso…


It is altogether interesting,

This Tumblr thing.

Something like my Pop eruptions,

When suddenly I would listen to pop music, or watch blockbusters, etc.

But with more creation into it.

With a ‘result’, a ‘product’…

It is very ‘passive’, yes…

Most of what you do is, well, just choosing.

But it is already far, far more active than just art/music consumption.



Love again.

I may be free of modernism.

I may envisage a way out.

Arvo Pärt, John Adams, Steve Reich.

No individual seems to have a solution.

They are all pointing towards it.

The solution may still be ahead.

Or I haven’t yet seen it.

Or it is there somewhere already, and it did not reach me yet…



Suddenly the view of XXth century musical canon


As progress


Rediscovery of the canon.

In an integrated manner.



Ligeti again.


Truly powerful.

I am able to listen to him like never before…

Such a beautiful sense of harmony, and of sound.

Form, as well.

There is drama, there is narrative.



I listen to music.

And my state does not go down.


I feel stable.

I feel in a bubble.

Well being?

Not even: just flow.

Just absence of self.

Now, of course, the thing is

To be able to reach a point

Where other activities:

  • disciplined creation
  • maybe some forms of discourse, like essays

can exist as well…

In this very same state…

Difficult, difficult, it seems.

Almost impossible I would say…

Certain kinds of reading, also.

Reading philosophy,

Reading abstract, or intellectual things.


Finnegans Wake

I shall read that.

I shall resolve this dreadful knot.

I am now

Strong enough,


For this meandering

For this ascension,

For this descent into inverted bowels.


The problem, of course,

Is to become.

The problem is

What I am.

For I am not.

This self-gaze sees nothing.


In search for something full


Always looking,

Always craving,

Always devouring.

In vain.